


A Trophy Father's Trophy Son

by deathbydefault



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mental Breakdown, No Romance, bat dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12349980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathbydefault/pseuds/deathbydefault
Summary: When death came - it took not just a hero. Not just an idol; nor a friend, a mask, a leader, a mentor, or even just a laugh, or at least smile.No, because when death came, it picked the best flowers; the reddest, the darkest, the brightest - the one with the most thorn.So he took the best.A soldier.A father. A son.





	1. The Pride - The One To Be Loyal

He was old. No – not himself. _Him._ the mighty night itself. No matter what those reporters had said; all those headlines – all those words and faked sob that said what a pity it was, how young he was. But again, they’ve seen him in a different spotlight. Different light; with a mask, a play, an act. _The billionaire Gotham loved_ , the flirtatious man just getting comfortable in his prime age. A man with one too many kids, a man who no one could ever take seriously, yet a man no one could say no to. Indeed a pity it was. But after all of those, how could he be young; how could he be an ignorant child – no, he had stopped being a child since bloods were all he could see on the night sky. He was old. He was just _too_ old. Too old for those damned fights; those wars with people, with monsters, even with the Gods itself!

He was just a human, for Fuck’s sake. Even with the lifetime experience, the trainings they needed to pull him away from. But in the end he was right. He always have. It wasn’t enough. Because he wasn’t a God, a meta-human nor something ridiculous either. He was just a man inside some fancy suit and superb technology. A man who _think_. A man who prepare.

Yet none of them prepared for this – prepared was the wrong word, though. It was more like knowable. It was eventualities. Dick understands it very well. Too much. He knew that  so called dark knight was just flesh and bones; yet he couldn’t help but see that shadow as invincible. Though _he_ _did_ remain still with jet black hair and the only lines on his face were from injuries in Dick’s memory.

And Dick should’ve let go. He should’ve laughed, should’ve at least smile. He deserved it. both of them did. For then Dick wouldn’t have to see those furrowed brows no more. He wouldn’t see the brooding, the complaining, the scolding; those darkness, those sadness, those loneliness. Those invisible walls he put around himself. Those harsh words and the stiff hand on Dick’s shoulder. The warmth, the frustration. In fact, Dick would never see anything anymore. All of those would be buried six feet under.

Then how can he smile; how can he be at least happy about it. despite the peacefulness that finally embrace that cold body inside the coffin; how can he touch those peacefulness, the same ease. How can he – he just lost a fath- mentor, partner, father, guardian, father, father, father – father. Again.

And it hurt. It burnt – twice; maybe thousands times more than it was before. Maybe because he was no longer that child who just seek for justice; no longer the ever so optimistic robin; no longer agent 37 who was no one – even more someone’s child; no longer nightwing, the independent, the rational one, the one who could stand up against Batman – the one who could stand side by side with him; he wasn’t even the Batman, who could take his father’s cowl and make it his.

Yet no tears fell from his eyes that morning. That morning; Dick wondered why were there no storms, not even rain or gloomy clouds to decorate the sky. It was as if his death was something to celebrate. Maybe it was – it wasn’t. Hell, it wasn’t even really a funeral for Dick. It was just finally throwing the image of Bruce’s body lying in the cave with Tim’s zombie eyes on him every three seconds for days.

Selina Kyle came to him after he gave his speech. A simple speech that was written in a rush, that was delivered slowly by his stopped brain. Yet again, more tears fall from the listeners’ eyes. But even a single goodbye on the right day could break someone down. Though Dick didn’t really care if those tears tears were fake, in fact, he didn't care of anything at all.

Even when Selina said, with bright eyes and faraway look – with a smirk and a scoff; Bruce proposed to her and she said yes.

Again, Dick didn’t cry. Didn’t even waver, didn’t even tremble. He didn’t even smile. He left the funeral the same time as everyone did – saving the grave for Jason to mourn over – he talked about the mission, the empty cape; how again, he would take it. He talked to the league, talked to every acquaintances of Batman – of Wayne. Every friends, every ex-lovers, everyone. Without even hearing his own voice. It was pathetic. He knew he would find yet another footage – message – last will of Bruce Wayne recorded for everyone. He knew maybe then he would breakdown; crying like a baby.

But he didn’t know why he still came to the batcave later that night. Looking through the costumes. And it felt like he was sneaking into his father’s closet. His _dead_ father’s closet. Looking for answers. Looking for a reason. Why did he have to die. And that was what hit him. He can’t do it. The weight, the feel of his father around him. His judging eyes. Dick can’t do it. Because as much as Dick hated to admit it; that hole in the suit, he can’t fill it. how can he. When he had the same hole on his life.

Yes, it wasn’t the first time. it didn’t hurt any less. Because now – now was the end. Full stop. And he wished he was that child in the red, yellow and green costume, throwing tantrum till God – if he ever was real – would give him back his dad. Because he would do everything – he would’ve scream, he would’ve cried, he – he would’ve killed.

"I was _his_ son," Dick choked, to the silent shadows of his father. The one that only exist on his mind. And that cave never felt any more darker - colder. Because no one belonged in the cave - no one except his dad. And what was that cave for without the master of the house. _I was just becoming his son._

He felt like that teen in a pixie boot and booty shorts again, making a fuss over a piece of paper. _An Adoption paper_. One that now he was clutching against his chest. Thinking how foolish he was. How ungrateful he was. Because thinking back, he honestly never thought he could feel any more loyal to Bruce that he had since he was a kid but, on top everything,then when he was made the same offer, then when _he_ was his father, too, he want to just hit people for just thinking bad _thoughts_ about him.

"I _was_ his son!" again a screamed heard from the broken soul, followed by a hit to the wall - who didn't break, who only echoed his sorrow. Because he was alone, now. And though he thought Alfred would come and comfort him - though he wished Jason would crashed and fight with him; all that came to him was darkness. And it only reminded him of the pain.

 _ **I'm** his son,_ he didn't say.

For it hurt so much; he could've jumped off a building and broke all his bones, scratched all his skins, or even died and it wouldn't nearly hurt as much.

 


	2. The Mind - The One That's Not Supposed to

It was unfair. No. Bruce wasn’t his father. Not like he was to anyone else. Because they were family before they were a soldier. But Tim was a soldier since the beginning. Was always different. Another reason as when they bring his body to the cave and everyone thought him dead, Tim was thinking; _not yet_. Just like before. It was easier to see him as dead, wasn’t it; to just cry and let fate do their little magic. Called him crazy or anything, he didn’t care anymore. He knew better. He was right before. Bruce wasn’t really died before, he wasn’t either now. Even Jason literally came back from the dead. Three days or three weeks; it was just a matter of process. Dick had thrown him a pity look every now and then, and a half reached out hand to stop him. But Tim knew he wouldn’t. He had lost something more than just a mentor.

Three days or three weeks, Tim didn’t really know the differences. To be honest, he actually knew. For every night death would come; with its dark cape hovering just an inch above Bruce’s skin. Then bloods and bones would opened its palm; asking, begging. And every damn night Tim would only hold his cold body tighter. Every damn night he would sell another piece of his soul to the devil for just another bit of miracle to keep death away.

True, he didn’t really care. He could’ve brought the first pharaoh back to life with all he did now. It should’ve done the same to Bruce. But death was a cheater as he was truthful. As he was. As _he_ was.

Truth, Bruce has cheated death once too many times. Had played with fate on the palm of his hand.

No more games. No more magic nor high class technology. No more – nothing. There was nothing to begin with. Then death finally kissed him goodnight. And all Tim could see was Bruce. Bruce. Bruce.

A part of him wanted to let Bruce go. He was tired, both of them were, he realized. But he can’t. _Not yet_. He wasn’t yet a son wasn’t yet a prize. He hasn’t yet won.

Tim didn't even know why his sight became blurry - it's the tea- it's because he skipped meals, sleeps- pretty much everything, dummy. _No. it's because the tears-_ no. no. Since when his ears were buzzing? It's too damn loud here. All these noise- no, it was only his head, why were he like this? No. Tim. Focus. _Please stop. B. No more._ Tim felt cold- no, it was actually super hot to the point it suffocated him. The only thing cold here is Bru- _No._

“Tim-“

And then death was gone, with a certain blue eyes that hadn’t been open for a while. With ghostly touch of the warmth that shouldn’t been there.

_No. no, no, no no no no no no nononononono._

**Not yet.**

Why can't Dick understand? All he wanted to do was to set things right. Gotham needs Batman. The whole universe _needs_ Batman. And Dick can act all right and mighty like he always do, but Tim knew, he knew _all damn too well_. It's not fair. Bruce was- Bruce was- 

“Tim enough,” there were hands holding up his body. But his mind was a mess. He couldn’t even tell whose they were. Maybe Dick. Maybe Alfred. It could be the damn Superman for all he cares. He felt sick.

“Master Timothy,” a new voice came. Hovering like death did just a second ago. But this time Tim didn’t listen. He chose not to. Still his eyes saw. He was kept, caged like a doll inside someone’s arm. _His_ corpse – his _body_ was starting to get further and further away. And Tim really wanted to run back to find him, to prove, to feel the beat of that lifeless case of once a God. But his feet were almost leaving the ground. And he really almost punch Dick in the face if it wasn’t for a pair of eyes that was begging,

**Don’t you know what you do to me**

_That was unfair_ , answered Tim. But everything had always been like that. Dick was different. _Tim_ was different. He wasn’t robin. At least not the one that was brought to. He kicked his way here. Because Batman needs robin, he always thought. It kept him sane. It balanced him. But even so, Tim would never be enough. _Tim_ was replaceable. Because he wasn't _the first,_ the original one. not even the one that would make Bruce bawl his eyes over to either. He wasn't even his son. well, or daughter, if that even matter. He was just a- co-worker. It hurts. No. Why is he being like this. No. Sorry B. 

_Batman needs robin_ my ass. For what? practice babysit and patience test? so that Al got other people that he can fuss around? Robin should've been his partner. It should've been enough to keep him alive. To save him from falling to the darkness that had always been eating him slowly. Even there was one, even there were four, and even there were hundreds. It wasn’t enough. Because they were just children. _His._ No.

No. no. no. Tim head was spinning. Maybe it was because the coffee. Maybe it was the radiation. Or some other weird shits he tried to save Bruce. Batman. Batman. Batman. Bruce.

_The cave._

He should be on the cave. Because Bruce _is_ there. He always is. Because it’s not the cave that made him Batman. It’s the other way around. He must be there. And so should Tim. So should Tim.

Tim was different. Always had been. Bruce wasn’t a father to him. He was much more than that. Robin needs Batman, he now realize.

The last thing he remembered was falling to his own puke.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really thankful u read this piece of sh-angst. piece of angst.  
> Just let me know if u (don't) like it or anything  
> I need it  
> thankies  
> 


	3. The Rebel - The One Who Came Back

Jason never thought he was smart – or maybe he has, sometimes – he just thought that people were stupid. He wasn’t smart. He was only learning how to keep all his sense in check so he wouldn’t die too soon. The stare, the quick-pace breathing on people, he learnt it firsthand that, it’ll only take one wrong step to get himself killed in a place like this. Though killed was a strong word – a certain person would be against it – but he thought it was fitting. There was lot of ways to kill someone without taking their life.

So again, Jason never thought of himself as a smart person – except for the times he did – and even though thinking shouldn’t have been his thing, but it only took him one death to know he’s been living in the fine line between sane and lunacy. But he no longer care, really, he was smart enough to know that, in fact, he wasn’t alive at all. _At least no more._

_No. Fuck, no.  
_

And though he was smart enough to think of every possible way death could get a taste of Bruce and – to no surprise; or just as expected – rehearsed it a thousand times or more in his head – every dramatic scene, every sappy last words, every horrible ends where he would throw himself into Bruce’s tomb and bawl his eyes out, goes berserk and burning the whole Gotham, making a cold speech that including ‘ _he deserve it_ ’, or the mainstream end where he would just being as dramatic and missing the funeral. He did think of everything. Yet everything still couldn’t even reach Bruce’s standard of everything. Again, to no surprise – or just as expected, Jason wasn’t included in Bruce’s death event.

To be fair, no one was.

He was always true to himself till the end, so it seems. The loner. The Bruce-I-don't-need-anyone's-help-Wayne. The melodramatic one. The one that cared too much yet not enough. The one that was teared open in front of his own eyes. And Batman was no longer dark, no longer black. It was red; bloody to the point it was funny. Ironic. A lifeless body fall from the sky. Like an angel. Like a doll with its strings cut. It was just that level of unreal that make him- everyone froze. It _was_ war. It was chaos. But it should've been just like everything that had ever happened to them to Bruce. It didn't make sense.

By the time Jason's brain could process what had happened, he could only hear panic on his ear, some voices toppled by another, calling Bruc- Batman. Calling him. calling anyone who wasn’t busy – or better, not dead yet.

Until silent filled his ears.

Until sobs and scream. And another sobs and screams. _His_.

He could only see his hands, reaching to that body as if it was in front of his eyes; his feet, running until he reached his bike, until he reached anything that could take him to Bruce’s place in a millisecond. He didn't even imagine that he would ever prayed, to all the Angels, to all the Gods in heaven, though he never believe in one. never prayed to one. Though all the Gods he knew was never one to actually make things better. Only for a dead body; lying in the middle of the cave with red covered everything except those blue eyes that now just as cold as the sea.

Until his feet couldn’t get any closer than _his_ own shadow.

Until _nothing_ was all he could see.

_I fight for you. I obeyed all your orders. Out of respect. Out of love._

Indeed. Bruce’s death was nothing like he could imagine. Not the scars or the blood – though those were quite interesting as well – but he could never imagine the way Alfred broke down like he did; or the way Dick turned to be a robot; or the way Damian and Tim – turn out, they really are just children; yet those are what they never be, and now will never be; for a parent was no longer what they could have. 

_I was a replacement as I was replaced. I was the criminal._

He always knew Bruce wasn’t invincible. Got to prove that so many times.

But he wasn't smart, he knew that. So it was quite a surprise that his prediction came true.

He always knew he wasn’t the best son – if not the worst – Bruce could ever get. He didn’t even need to force Bruce to admit it. To be fair, he did try to kill Bruce one too many times. Did he regret it? no- maybe- probably- _yes. Yes. Yes. Yes_.

_No._

He did not just lose a father. He never had one. He was just saying goodbye to an old mentor. Having his revenge. _Wrong_. Bruce wasn't even his mentor anymore. Bruce was Jason Todd's mentor. parent. _yes._ The one that died beaten by a crowbar and popped like a corn. But that kid who would obediently saying _yes, sir;_ _no, sir_ was dead. Everyone could see the tomb. They don't even have to, the booty pants and the pixie boots were still hanging in Bru- Batman's hall of fame. No, Jason wasn't salty about it. Absolutely. He was dead, you see. He was just sticking around out of respect. _For the fam_ , as they said.

_All was your fault._

No. Jason wouldn’t go rampaging around like everyone expected. He wouldn’t even mourn on Bruce’s grave, like Dick expected.

Instead here he was. Jason Todd. Wayne. No one. Back to square one. In the outer side of Gotham on the top of the bat- Bruce’s car, and a burger in hand. Just like the first time he met Bruce, or after a fight with Bruce. The difference: Jason has no one to eat the other burger now.

But that was fine too.

Not like he cared. Yea.

Not just about the burger though.

 _Everything_.

He was no longer care. Be it the praises or the curses, he took them all. Be it the punches or the kisses, it all tasted the same. Because after all he was just some son from some parents, parents who no longer exist.

Jason was someone who walks in the thin line between reality and what happened to be lunacy. Because he dipped himself in the insanity and foolish act. Because being right was not the same as being good. Being alive.

Ok. Kidding.

Jason still wasn't that smart, that he forget two burgers were too much for a man.

He still need the extra help.

But stealing wires wouldn't work anymore.

_Father, who am I now_

**Author's Note:**

> Is it better if I do it alphabetically, chronologically, or- or just randomly, perhaps?


End file.
